


Babble

by MarzgaPerez



Series: Together, Apart [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Daddy Gallavich, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Fix-It, Healing, M/M, Never Giving Up, Past Abuse, season 6, yev and his tiny handprints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 11:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Season 6 Fix-It after the prison scene.Ian isn’t ready to give up on Mickey, and he hopes Mickey’s not ready to give up on Yev.





	Babble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azuresky18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azuresky18/gifts).

Before Ian opened his eyelids, an image of the man he loved, pleading with him from behind a panel of unbreakable glass, flashed before him. He jerked himself awake, gasping for breath, trying to find the words to reassure Mickey that he’d wait. _ He’d wait. _For as long as he had to.

The last day Ian visited Mickey in prison, Mickey begged him to wait, even if he had to lie. So Ian promised. But he didn’t mean it. How could he? Not when he was medicated within an inch of consciousness, held captive by a gift his mother had unwittingly bestowed upon him—bipolar disorder. And not when the thought of being without Mickey for fifteen years (or eight if they were “lucky”) was so crippling he could barely put one foot in front of the other. No, it wasn’t fair to put either of them through any more suffering.

The weeks that followed were sheer torture—Fiona nagging him several times a day about his meds, driving him to quit his shitty job bussing tables under her watchful eye. He’d turned to Lip, who helped Ian land a maintenance job on his college campus, but then refused to let Ian sleep on the goddamn floor of his dorm room when all he needed was a place to crash and clear his head. 

His older siblings had their fucking futures laid out in front of them, and sure they’d struggled, but they weren’t in Ian’s shoes. Fiona would always be the resourceful Gallagher, able to leap from failed relationship to failed relationship in a single bound. And Lip? A fucking genius with only himself to get in the way. So what did that make Ian? The Gallagher with the mental illness and no way out.

What would it take to bring Ian just an ounce of the happiness he’d been longing for his whole life? It was so fucking obvious, it was laughable. Just like the punch Lip had landed the day before when they’d gotten into a fight, the answer hit him like a swift kick to the gut. _ Mickey._ He’d been kidding himself to think otherwise.

By the time Ian had experienced this epiphany, two months had passed since that heart-wrenching exchange with Mickey. He prayed all was not lost. 

Ian could feel the power and certainty of his decision—however reckless or stupid other people found it—coursing through his veins as he pressed down on the gas pedal, moving closer to his destination. 

That look of sheer relief on Mickey’s face when he’d seen the redhead on the other side of the glass, both warmed and shattered Ian’s heart.

He’d come alone this time, not with Svetlana, nor Yevgeny. There were no distractions, only raw emotions and humble apologies made by both men, each of them deeming the apology from the other unnecessary.

Ian didn’t put his intentions into words that day, but he knew exactly what he needed to do, which was to make a life for the two of them that would be ready for Mickey to walk into after serving his time. Rather than think about their lives being put on hold, Ian was determined to treat these unfair circumstances as a beginning.

He knew, obviously, that he’d need a steady job to be able to keep money in Mickey’s commissary and gas in his car for weekly visits. Ian also knew he’d need to continue forging a bond with Svetlana, mainly because of Yevgeny and the relationship he wanted to make possible for Mickey and his son, should Mickey want that, too.

It was a complex issue, given that Yevgeny was the product of Mickey’s rape by Svetlana, Terry as the true culprit, as he’d essentially forced Svetlana to fuck his son while holding Ian hostage to witness the horrific scene. They had all been victimized that day and many times afterwards, forced to make life-changing decisions because of Terry’s bigotry and abuse. 

At the center of it all were broken hearts and ruined lives and one innocent soul who was oblivious to the sins of all those who had come before him—Yevgeny.

And Ian loved him so much. Ian loved that baby as if he were his own, never seeing him as a representation of the evil that came before him, but the antidote to it and the hope for something beautiful to exist beyond the ugliness they’d barely survived.

At the same time, he understood that it was hard for Mickey to see his son that way, as much as a part of him loved Yevgeny and wanted to be a father to him. 

Ian waited until his third visit to the prison, when it was still only him and Mickey in the small walled-off partition, after they’d danced around the “what-if’s” and tried to wrap their minds around the reality of what was in front of them, that Ian mentioned Yevgeny.

“He’s been babbling a lot lately...and drooling,” Ian remarked casually. “Lana thinks he’s teething.”

“That right?” Mickey didn’t seem disinterested, just tired. Ian could only imagine how exhausting it was to keep up a front every waking moment, even for his tough-talking, resourceful boyfriend.

“Yeah,” nodded Ian. “She’s been letting me keep him some when she goes to work. I have to text her what Yev’s doing every hour on the hour, but Lana knows now that I won’t hurt him. Or put him in danger. Ever again.” Ian pressed his fingers against the glass and raised his eyes to meet Mickey’s, nervous about what he was about to ask. 

“Would it be alright if I bring him to see you next time?” He looked deep into those pools of sparkling blue for some sort of approval. Ian needed to know that Mickey was okay with this future he was building for them, this family that he hoped they could have together. 

And if Mickey couldn’t bring himself to have a relationship with Yevgeny, which would now be ten times harder behind bars, Ian would find a way to understand. He would disengage his feelings for the little guy and bury them forever if that’s what Mickey decided. But Mickey decided otherwise.

“Sure, bring him,” Mickey agreed, shrugging one shoulder and managing a slight smile. “He’d be good company for you on the drive here. Noisy little fucker.”

Ian beamed, but quickly tried to mask his goofy grin. He wasn’t sure if Mickey was doing it for Ian or Yevgeny or all three of them, but it made him love Mickey even more.

The steady job Ian was searching for happened soon after he completed CPR classes—for Yev’s safety—stumbling upon an opportunity to become an EMT. The hours would be challenging, possibly preventing Ian from his weekly visitations with Mickey, but they’d talked it over and agreed that Ian had to go for it. Plus, it gave him some freedom during the day to take care of Yevgeny while Svetlana worked at the Alibi.

A few months of their new routine passed, daily phone calls that left them longing, sleepless nights, and treasured Saturday visits. Ian toted Yev along at least every other week, sometimes more, depending on his new work schedule. There was one Saturday that Yev had been running a temperature, and Debbie, had agreed to watch him while Ian made the now familiar trek to the prison.

_ Where’s the kid? _had been the first words out of Mickey’s mouth, for which Ian said a silent prayer of gratitude, to a god he hardly ever acknowledged, but this was deserving of at least a Hail Mary, or maybe he’d even go to confession. Not likely, but Ian figured it was the thought that counted.

He quickly explained that Yev was alright, just feverish, and yes, they had called his pediatrician, and yes, they were giving him plenty of fluids, and no, it was too early to suspect the flu, but Ian assured Mickey he would give him an update.

At least in Yev’s absence, they could speak freely, not because Yev would have understood their conversation anyway, but because the cheerful demeanor they tried to maintain could fall by the wayside, and they could just be...real.

Ian could tell that Mickey was feeling down and hopeless about the time that was still in front of him. He’d been doing some research relevant to his case in hopes of having it reopened. Ian was impressed with everything he’d been learning and offered to do whatever he could from the outside.

Mickey said he was doing enough, maybe too much. And maybe he needed to think about moving on and focusing on his own life, rather than let Mickey drag him down. There was nothing for Ian to do but ignore that suggestion and promise Mickey he’d switch shifts with his co-worker, Sue, so he could come back the following week with Yev.

They began writing letters—Ian started it—concerned about how Mickey was trying to push him away. Ian knew if he didn’t have some outlet for his own fears about losing Mickey, it was possible he could be facing a relapse. 

With his letters, Ian sent pictures of Yev and colorful paintings of Yev's hand and footprints, doodles that the tyke had made when Ian placed a crayon in his hand after he’d redirected it from Yev’s mouth onto the piece of blank paper.

Mickey sent letters back to Ian with messages for Yev and sometimes drawings he’d done of the three of them huddled together on a sofa, reading a book with Yev in between them, or walking together in the park with Yev perched on Ian’s shoulders. 

Ian bought an unused scrapbook at a second hand store and began saving the drawings for Yev to have when he was older. They were also nice to thumb through when he was feeling desperate for Mickey’s company.

When August came around, Ian promised Mickey a visit to celebrate his birthday. 

“For fuck’s sake, Gallagher, don’t embarrass me,” he’d warned.

“It’s not just for you, anyways. It’s for Yev.” 

Mickey had missed Yev’s first birthday party, which Lana threw at the Alibi, complete with a clown and a juggler. And the usual drunk-ass losers crowding around the bar, but at least they’d all sang one helluva rendition of “Happy Birthday” to Yev.

When Ian arrived the day before Mickey’s birthday, as it fell on a Sunday, the guard at the check-in station nodded him inside, Yev in his arms and balloons too. They were wearing pointy paper hats, and Yev clapped in delight at the sight of the balloons floating above him. “Baaaa,” he managed and pointed. “Ba, Ba!”

“That’s right, buddy,” whispered Ian encouragingly. Sitting down across from Mickey, Ian ignored the scowl on his face and proceeded to convey birthday greetings from everyone on the outside.

“You know I’m gonna get shit for this,” Mickey grumbled into the receiver.

Ian already had a comeback. “I put extra money in your commissary. Buy everyone a Twinkie, and tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Yeah, a Twinkie’ll do the trick,” snapped Mickey. “Jesus, Ian.”

“Simmer down, Mick. Yev and I have a present for you. I think you’ll really like it.”

Ian pulled something out of his pocket, which turned out to be a picture of Lana and Mickey, which Mickey spotted right away.

“Are you kiddin’ me? What the hell?”

“You’ll see.” Ian held the photograph a safe distance from Yev’s grasp. 

“Yev. Buddy,” Ian said. “Who’s that?” He pointed to Lana.

“Ma-ma,” the boy answered right away. 

“Good job, Yev!” Ian exclaimed and then looked to Mickey for reinforcement.

Mickey’s face broke out into a slow grin, realizing that he was seeing one of Yev’s milestones. “He’s talking, huh? Good job, Yev!” Mickey rapped on the glass and waved.

It had been a few weeks since Yev’s babble had turned into recognizable words, but Ian wanted to show Mickey rather than tell him.

Ian nodded proudly and looked at Yev again.

“And who am I, buddy? Who am I?”

Yev made a sound that came out more like “Een,” but it was definitely a distinct sound reserved only for Ian.

“That’s really fuckin’ cool!” shouted Mickey. “Oh, shit! Now I gotta quit sayin’ shit like that.”

Ian chuckled, and so did Yev, delighted by the smiles on the faces surrounding him, somehow knowing that they were genuine and not forced.

“Okay, Yev. Last one.” Ian pointed to the person next to Lana in the photograph and then through the glass at Mickey. “Who’s that?” 

Ian’s eyes locked with Mickey’s, watching the way his chest had stilled, as though he’d stopped breathing in anticipation of what Yev was going to say.

Yev’s eyes were darting back and forth between the two men, again sensing that something important was happening but not really knowing the role he was supposed to play.

“C’mon, Yev,” Ian coaxed. “Who’s that?” He sent up a silent prayer for the third time in the past few months, which was more praying than he’d done in years.

“Da-da,” giggled Yev. Ian made sure the phone was close enough for Mickey to hear as Yev repeated it. “Da-da. Da-da.”

Ian hugged him close and kissed his plump cheek, tears forming in his eyes as he noticed Mickey wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and cradling the receiver with his shoulder.

It took him a minute to compose himself, but Mickey finally replied with a shaky voice, “That’s right, Yev! I’m your da-da. I love you, buddy.” He was overcome with emotions again. 

Ian pushed through a sob that was forming in his throat. “Happy Birthday, Mick. We love you, too.”

Mickey’s expression was still a mix of bewilderment and gratitude, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “Fuck, Ian. First the balloons, and now I’m crying like a damn bitch. You really want me to get fucked up in here, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” Ian managed, half laughing and half crying. “We wanted to surprise you. I talk about you all the time to Yev. I want this kid to know you when you get out. And he will.”

“Goddamn, Ian.” Mickey had his head down low. “I fuckin’ love you more than you know. I wish I could hug both of you. This sucks.”

“I know, Mick. I know. We’ll have to figure something out. Bribe a guard or some shit. Gotta find a way out of here for you. I know this sucks, I know. But we’ll take it best we can. We have too much to lose.”

Mickey cleared his throat and looked around to see if anyone had noticed him crying. If they had, they were too busy saying their goodbyes to their loved ones since the timer had just buzzed.

Mickey pressed his fingers against the glass, and Ian lifted Yev’s hand to give him an imaginary high five. “Love you,” they mouthed to one another as Yev waved his little hand in response to his father’s waving, as the guard motioned for him to hurry up.

That was a good day. A very good day. And there would be more of those. And shitty ones too. But Ian and Mickey held onto that one for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to whaticameherefor, who sparked this idea with her fabulous fic, Sideways from the recent Shameless Big Bang. And she beta-ed too!
> 
> This fic is a gift for my Gallavich pal, azuresky18, with whom I’ve had many enlightening conversations about our boys.


End file.
